Last Year's Rent
by HollyPup
Summary: Family is everything. But what happens when you never knew your family as family, just as a familiar face? Roger is struggling with addiction, Mark is struggling with Maureen, and Brenna is being thrown into a situation she isn't ready for. PreMovie. R&R!
1. Help

**Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own anything from Rent.** **The only thing I can say I own is Brenna.**

**Note: Yes, I have created _another_ fic. Yes, I'm crazy. Yes, you know you love me lol Anyway, I'm rather proud of this fic because of the spontaneity of its creation. I'm sure that any regular readers I have will be able to see some similarities between Brenna and my other added characters in my other fics. However, while the character may be the same, the story itself is essentially different. In the past I've planned my fics out to a T. I have timelines, I know where chapters begin and end ahead of time. This fic just sort of forced itself out. I tried to stop it I swear xD But it was either write it or have my head explode...and I rather like my head O.o**

**Finally, I'd just like to say a little bit about how inspiring a film Rent is. I'm sure many of you who will read this, maybe even all you, will already know that. But to anyone who reads this that has not seen the film yet, I highly recommend that you immediately rent it from the nearest available place and watch it. Very few things in this world have touched me on such an emotional level. So far the list consists of a short story by Stephen King and this movie. The characters, the story, it just all captivated me, and it couldn't have come at a better time. I'm having issues in my life that I'm having difficulty dealing with, and then I finally watch Rent on Christmas Eve of last year ironically xD and it made everything a little better. **

**So, please enjoy this fic, I know I'm going to have fun writing it. Keep in mind that I do have two other fics that need attention, but this one could possibly take precedent over them. Alright, I've rambled enough. READ! and review...**

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**Chapter One: Help**

Brenna sat in her seat on the bus, which seemed to hit ever pot hole between Massachusetts and New York. A few miles back they had hit a particularly bad one and her bag had been jostled from the overhead rack. She picked it up and stuffed it in the seat beside her for the rest of the trip. Which would only be another half an hour or less. She kept glancing at her watch, praying that they would be on time. Mark said he would be waiting for her at the station, but that he couldn't wait too long before getting back home. She drummed the fingers of her left hand on her thigh and chewed on her right thumbnail as she stared out the window, thinking about earlier that day when this "adventure" had began.

The school year was just about to start. Roger was going to be pissed. That was the only thing he had ever insisted upon, that Brenna go to school. A good school. She was about to start at Harvard Business School. Tomorrow was the orientation, but she wasn't going to be there. She was going to be in New York City. She had been in the process of packing up her books in a box when the phone in her apartment rang. She let it ring, wanting the answering machine to get it. She had a lot more work to do and she didn't want to be distracted by any calls. The machine beeped and she heard this:

_"Hello, Brittany? This is a friend of your brother's. My name is Mark. I think we saw each other once, but anyway I..."_ Brenna had dropped the book that was in her hands into the box with a thud and dashed to the phone. She snatched it off the cradle and held it to her ear.

"Hello. Mark?" she said.

"Brenna? Oh, I'm so glad I caught you." She heard him sigh with relief on the other end.

"What are you calling for?" she asked, frowning at the grimy window that was next to the phone, "Is Roger OK?" Immediately, she knew the answer was no, or something akin to it. Mark paused.

"No, no he's not. I need your help. Hes trying to quit his, er, habits, but he just keeps relapsing. I'm running out of ideas. I know you're about to start school and everything but I really think you should-"

"I can be there in 5 hours." Brenna had been looking at her watch while he talked. If she left now she could catch the 5:20 bus. "Can you pick me up at the station?" Mark paused again, though this time it was probably more from surprise.

"Uh, yeah," he finally said, "You don't mind riding double on my bike do you?" Brenna had told him "no" and then hung up.

She stood there a minute, thinking about what had just transpired. She had just agreed to not just ditch orientation, but probably school entirely. Why? Because Roger was her brother, and it didn't matter how far apart they had grown over the years. If he needed her she would go. No questions asked. She let out a sigh. Oh boy. What was she getting herself into? She shook her head, not wanting to think about it, and started shoving things into a small travel bag. She told her neighbors they could have anything in the apartment, and then she left.

Now, Brenna sat looking out the bus's window, still chewing on her thumbnail, as they pulled into the bus stop. She barely recognized Mark, who was standing there waiting for her. She grabbed her bag from beside her and joined the line of people exiting the bus. She stepped down onto the sidewalk and walked over to Mark, who was standing on his tiptoes trying to see into the bus. She tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and nearly lost his balance.

"Sorry 'bout that," she told him, "You had shorter hair last time I saw you." She was trying to make this as casual as she could. She didn't want to think about why she was here. Mark smiled a bit.

"_You_ had longer hair," he said, and that seemed to break the ice. Brenna actually laughed a little. She ran a hand through her shoulder length, choppy hair. He led her to his bike, and they managed to tie her bag to the back while she perched precariously on the handle bars. They made it back to Mark and Roger's place, but Brenna thought it to be a minor miracle. She slid off the handle bars and stared up at the building. She followed Mark, who was carrying his bicycle up the steps. She followed him up the stairs to the door of their apartment.

"He doesn't know I'm coming, right?" she asked. She had assumed that this whole thing had been kept from Roger, and the look Mark gave her confirmed that thought. She sighed and nodded for him to open the door. He did. They both walked in, Mark setting his bike down against the wall. Brenna looked around, amused at the similarities between this place and the apartment she had left earlier that day.

"Roger?" Mark called out, taking his scarf off in the process, "Roger, I'm home, and I, er, have someone with me." That was when they both heard the sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom. They looked at each other and then Brenna followed Mark quickly to the bathroom. She could barely take seeing her big brother, a heap on the floor, with his head hanging over the toilet.

"Oh, Roger," she said sadly, and he looked up at her.

"Brenna?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper from the effort of throwing up. Brenna walked into the bathroom and knelt beside him.

"Yeah, it's me." She reached out to brush a lock of hair out of his face, and was greeted with the exceptionally sweaty surface of his forehead. She retracted her hand, looked at it, and then wiped it on her pants. "You're a mess."

"Thanks for noticing," he replied, as he moved away from the toilet and leaned against the wall with a groan, "You shouldn't be here. You've got school." Brenna looked at him with eyebrows raised.

"No, I _should_ be right where I am," she told him firmly, "Believe it or not, you're more important than school. Come on let's get you to the couch." She nodded for Mark to help her as she grabbed one of Roger's arms and heaved him to his feet. They both guided him to the couch and let him lay down. Mark went to go make some food, and Brenna sat on the floor beside her brother. She was staring at him for several minutes before he said something.

"Go ahead," he said, laying his arm across his eyes, "Say it."

"Say what?" Brenna asked him curiously.

"Tell me I'm an idiot." She sighed.

"Roger, you're not an idiot. You just made a bad decision." Roger chuckled a bit.

"You sound like," he started, and then coughed a little into his hand, "You sound like Mark."

"I believe my exact words were 'Roger, you're an idiot' actually," Mark said, looking up from the coffee pot.

"Yeah," Roger said smiling, "But you said it in that bleeding-heart, artisty way."

Mark scowled and threw a towel at him. Roger laughed, but the laughter quickly turned into a coughing fit. He sat up, coughing violently into his hand. Brenna quickly got to her knees in alarm, patting him on the back. She sighed with relief when the coughing subsided and her brother settled back onto the couch, his eyes closed. He looked exhausted. In just a few minutes he was asleep. She reached a hand out and tenderly stroked his hair, staring into the face of her slumbering big brother. He looked so pale, and skinny and malnourished from the vomiting. With another sigh she stood up and walked over to the counter where Mark had a pot of coffee and a loaf of bread set out. Brenna sat down on a stool and grabbed a slice of bread.

"So, you're Mark?" she asked as she nibbled on her bread. Mark grinned a little and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied, "I'm Mark. And you're Brenna. Coffee?" He held up a pot of almost black liquid.

"Please," Brenna answered through a mouthful of bread. She was suddenly aware of how much she was craving a cup of coffee. Mark poured some into a mug, and slid it over to her. He had a thoughtful look on his face.

"Were you really about ready to start school?" he asked her when she picked up the steaming cup.

"Yes," she said, letting the mug warm her hands before drinking, "But that doesn't matter. I'm here now, and I'm staying." She began sipping at her coffee, watching Mark carefully. He still looked like he was thinking about something.

"Why?" he said after a moment or two. Brenna looked confused.

"Why what?"

"Why are you here?" he asked, "And don't say it's because you're his sister, because that can't be all of it. You've never written, never called. I mean, I've never even seen you loitering outside the building." Brenna stared blankly at him for a few seconds, thinking about her reply.

"I'm going to take a guess," she began, "and assume that he's never told you about our childhood."

"He told me your parents were drug users and often abusive," Mark said with a shrug. Brenna abandoned her cup of coffee and focused on looking at her brother's friend.

"Thats true, but not what meant. I was talking about our relationship as children. Roger's and mine. He's never told you anything about that, has he?" Mark shook his head.

"No."

"Yeah, well," Brenna said sadly, "Let's just say we were never really close. In fact, a lot of the time I forgot I had a brother, and I'm sure the same happened to him. It wasn't his fault or mine. When he was old enough to be able to leave to house on his own I hardly saw him except for a few brief minutes in the morning. He usually stayed out all night or came home really late. When I became old enough I did the same thing. It was the only way to hide from our parents. They never cared where we were, and so we were allowed to come and go as we pleased, and usually once we were out of the house we stayed out until we got hungry. Then when he was sixteen he left, went off on his own, and as bad as it sounds I didn't miss him. How could I miss someone I had never really talked to? The last conversation we ever really had was when I was five! And then when I was sixteen I left too, and I made my own life." She finished with a sigh, staring down at the black pool of coffee in her mug. There was silence for a minute.

"How does that answer my question?" Mark asked her. Brenna grinned down at her hands, and opened her mouth to answer, but before you could she heard the door to the loft open behind her.

"Mark, Roger, I'm home," called a deep voice. Brenna spun around quickly in her seat.

"Shhhh!" she and Mark both said in unison.

Brenna watched as the man, a dark-skinned and tall person, quickly stopped talking. He glanced over at the couch where Roger was still snoozing comfortably, and then he looked at Brenna with a puzzled look on his face. Mark motioned him over to the counter. The guy walked over, and Brenna turned back around on her stool so she was facing Mark again. The newcomer took a seat beside her. He took off his cap and set it on the counter. Mark poured him a cup of coffee.

"So, Mark, whose your friend?" the guy asked with a wide grin. Mark narrowed his eyes at him.

"This is Brenna," Mark answered, "She's Roger's sister. I called her earlier and asked her to come down here and give us a hand. Brenna, this is Tom Collins. He's one of our other roommates." Tom Collins held out his hand to Brenna, still smiling broadly. She shook it, unable to not smile back.

"Just call me Collins," he told her, letting go of her hand, "I didn't know Roger had a sister." Brenna opened her mouth, but was again interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open.

"Mark, I'm home!" called another voice, this time very loud and rather high-pitched. Definitely female.

Brenna visibly winced when the voice reached her ears and she slowly turned around. Before her she saw a girl that looked about her age, maybe a little older. She had curly brown hair, large expressive eyes, and bright red lips. Brenna felt like slapping her for being so damned loud. She could tell that Roger hadn't slept more than a few hours in days, maybe even weeks. This moron was going to wake him up in no time.

"Maureen," Mark whispered urgently, "Be quiet. You'll wake Roger up.

"Too late," came a muffled reply from the couch. Roger slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Nice going," Brenna said irritably to the girl, Maureen, who was prancing over to the counter, her eyes fixed on Mark. She froze when she heard Brenna.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked haughtily. Getting more annoyed by the second, Brenna stood up and looked Maureen right in the face.

"I'm Roger's sister, and I have a problem with you barging in here and waking him up. He's exhausted!" She was yelling now.

"How was I supposed to know he was sleeping?" Maureen shouted back, looking over at Mark, as though it was his fault she was being yelling at, "And, hey, this is _my_ house! I can do what I want!"

"_Our_ house," Roger corrected her, joining everyone at the counter, "Brenna, calm down. It's OK. I wasn't that tired." He sat down on the last stool next to Collins. He was still rubbing one eye as he poured the remaining coffee into a mug of his own.

Brenna and Maureen stared at each other a moment longer, and then Brenna made to sit back on her stool, the last one available. However, Maureen rushed over and sat down on it in the blink of an eye. She sat there, her arms folded, looking at Brenna with childish pride. Brenna couldn't believe what she was seeing. Mark looked embarrassed.

"Well," Brenna said with a shrug, taking a step towards Mark, "I guess I'll have to go sit on Mark's lap." She had made the assumption that there was something between Mark and Maureen, and she was right. Maureen glared venomously at her and then got up to go sit on Mark's lap. Brenna smirked triumphantly as she reclaimed her seat on the other side of Collins. He and Roger were both laughing heartily.

"That was excellent," Collins told Brenna, patting her on the back and chuckling. She grinned at him and reached for her mug of coffee. The beverage was now lukewarm at best, but it was still coffee. If only she knew how great friend's she and coffee were going to be by the end of this ordeal. Maureen was still glaring at her as Brenna took a drink of her not-so-warm coffee. Brenna could sense more childish discussion.

"You're not staying are you?" Maureen finally asked her, her arms still folded as she sat on Mark's lap. He still looked rather embarrassed.

"No, she's not," Roger said before Brenna could answer. Brenna glanced grumpily over at him, tired of this cat-and-mouse game.

"Yes, I am," she stated firmly, the two of them staring hard at each other.

"You can't stay here," Maureen said matter-of-factly, "We all contribute to pay for this place. You just got here. You don't have a job so you _can't_ contribute." She sounded very happy at her observation. Brenna looked at her wearily, like she were a child that was trying to be allowed to stay up all night. She got up and went over to her bag that was still sitting on the floor near the door. She dug through it a few seconds and then returned to the counter with a wad of money. She counted out several bills, and laid them on the counter's surface.

"That should cover my share for a while," she said. Everyone was staring at the money. Even Maureen seemed speechless now. "I was going to use this money to pay for books, but I'm not going to need any textbooks here."

"You're not staying!" Roger shouted angrily, standing up. Brenna looked over at him and stood up too.

"Yes, I am!" she shouted back, "Stop trying to make me go away! I already told my neighbor's they could have anything left in my apartment. I brought some clothes, two books, a toothbrush, and a few photographs. I'm going to go look for a job tomorrow, and then I'm staying until I think you're OK."

"Why do you care?" he asked her, still yelling, "It's not exactly news that I have a drug problem " The others were just sort of staring at them, like they were an interesting television program.

"We're family!" Brenna screamed at him with all her might, breathing heavily, "It doesn't matter what happened in the past. I'm here now, and I'm not leaving. I'm not going to leave my brother here to suffer when there's something I can do about it. I can help. Let me help. I want to help." In the end, she was pleading with him, her face softened now. She could feel tears wanting to well up in her eyes but she held them at bay.

Roger stood completely still, looking at her like he had never seen her before. Then, without warning, he walked over and wrapped his arms around her. Brenna quickly wrapped her arms around him and they hugged each other tightly. It was the most physical contact they had had since she could remember. The tears broke through and she cried silently into his shirt.

"I need your help," he told her, his voice cracking a little. He was crying too.


	2. Getting the Ball Rolling

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything in Rent, but I still dream about owning Anthony Rapp...drool cough sorry...**

**Note: Ok, well heres Chapter 2 for those who are interested. It should start to get fairly interesting. Not a whole lot of pre-planning has gone into this fic xD I'm just writing as I go pretty much. Anyway, some of the things may sound a little off, but I think its all pretty good. For those of you who are major critics, I know that the whole Finding the Dealer situation sounds a little poorly written, but I thought that Brenna would be the type to not think a plan through all the way and I wanted to show that. Anyway, not a whole lot to say this time around so...just enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review!  
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**Chapter Two: Get the Ball Rolling**

"It's not fair!" Maureen was yelling again.

Brenna opened up one eye sleepily, and was greeted with the blurry image of what she recognized as Maureen's round posterior. Though it wasn't something she enjoyed waking up to, she was still too groggy to do anything about it. She had gotten to sleep maybe two hours ago, probably less. She had loss track lately. And she probably needed to get up right then anyway, but for now she wasn't able to do anything except continue laying sprawled out on the couch.

It had been a week since Brenna had arrived in New York City, and the work had started right away. It seemed like she hadn't been allowed a break since that first night. Her hours were spent watching Roger. Mostly this meant at night, and sometimes she went with him where ever he was going during the day. The job she had told Maureen about was just not possible for the arrangements that had to be made. Everyone else had things to do. That was why she was here. No one else could bother watching Roger twenty hours a day. It had been hard at first, for Brenna to adjust to living with so many people, but it wasn't that hard. Collins was no big deal. It was just Mark and Maureen that were a pain in the butt, and it was time for their mid-morning argument. Living without sleep was harder, but not by much.

"Life isn't fair Maureen!" Mark yelled back, "What do you want me to do kick them both out?" Lately the fights were about Brenna and Roger.

"Yes, thats exactly what I want!" she told him.

"I'm not going to kick them out! Roger is her brother! She's the only person who can help him!"

"She's not working! And I'm tired of listening to Roger throwing up at night and watching him fidget around during the day!" Mark shouted in frustration.

"Why can't you think about someone other than yourself?" he asked her. Brenna finally sat up as they continued screaming at each other. She blinked rapidly, letting her eyes adjust to the morning light streaming from the eastern wall of windows, and rubbed her eyes with her hands.

"Why can't you guys ever argue in the other room?" she asked through a yawn, stretching her arms over her head as she struggled to wake up. They both immediately stopped yelling and looked at her. Maureen looked livid. Mark looked apologetic. He opened his mouth, probably to say he was sorry, but Brenna waved him off. She stood up still stretching. "Don't worry about it. It's not like I get much sleep anyway. You guy's are like a bizarre alarm clock."

"I'm not apologizing," Maureen told her plainly.

"I didn't expect you too," Brenna said blankly, looking over at Mark, "Can we have some coffee before we go?"

"Go?" Maureen asked sharply before he could answer, "What do you mean 'go'?" Brenna sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Mark is taking me to go find Roger's dealer," she told her, "Desperate times call for desperate measures." She let Maureen tear into Mark while she went to go make some coffee. She hadn't meant to get him in trouble. She felt sorry for him half the time. But sometimes you can't choose who you love. As she made the coffee, Brenna thought about why she was going to go find Roger's dealer.

It had just been a few days ago, before Brenna had started watching him during the day. Those first five days she had let him leave the loft for a few hours, so she could look for a job. Like a fool, she had trusted him not to do anything stupid. As soon as he walked through the door that evening she knew something was different. Usually he looked exhausted and forlorn when he came home. This time, he looked considerably more cheery and alert. Immediately, Brenna knew why. There was really only one explanation.

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"Roger," she groaned, like he was a dog she just caught peeing in the corner. He froze and looked over at her, his face saying he hadn't expected her to still be awake. He stared at her a moment, and then his shoulder slumped and he stared at the ground. Brenna could hardly bare to look at him like that.

"Brenna, I-" he began.

"Don't say anything, Roger," she said, cutting him off, "Just go lay down. I'll bring you dinner when Mark gets home." Obediently, Roger shuffled off towards his 'room', leaving Brenna on the couch. She had known this would happen eventually, but it was a reality she wasn't ready to face. Tomorrow. She would face it tomorrow.

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She had been stupid to think this would be easy. Brenna poured herself a mug of steaming hot coffee, still listening to Mark and Maureen shout in the background. Her thought about this entire situation was that she just had to keep an eye on Roger when she could and he'd do the rest, but that had been silly. He was an addict, and had been for a while it seemed. He wasn't just going to stop because she was there. They'd already established that the brother-sister relationship didn't apply to them. At least not yet. Perhaps when this was all over they could feel that way about each other.

"I'm leaving!" Maureen yelled hysterically, storming towards the door.

"Fine!" Mark called after her as the door slammed shut. Fuming, he turned around and walked to the counter. He snatched up the pot of coffee and poured some into another mug. Brenna observed him calmly.

"All things considered that wasn't bad," she told him comfortingly. He looked up at her and she gave him a lopsided smile. Mark managed a grin of his own and sipped cautiously at his coffee.

"I suppose," he said wearily, setting his cup down, "So, why exactly are we going to find Roger's dealer?" Brenna took a drink of her own coffee as she thought about that.

"Because, its time to get creative," she said with a sigh, "I can keep watching him all the time, but its not going to get us anywhere unless we can find a way to ensure that for those few hours I do sleep, hes not leaving to go get a fix. I figure his dealer is a good place to start." Mark shrugged.

"Fine with me," he said, "You think I should bring my camera?" Brenna raised an eyebrow at him, still getting used the the ever-present video camera Mark took everywhere.

"Sure, why not?" They both went about finishing their coffee and having some food.

Brenna didn't worry about Roger when it came time to leave. In fact, he was an integral part of her plan. She grabbed a light jacket. The temperatures were still in the high eighties in New York City. Mark did the same and followed her out of the loft and out onto the sidewalk. They set off down the street, but as soon as they reached the nearest alley, Brenna grabbed Mark by the arm and yanked him into the dark passage.

"What the hell?" he yelped in surprise.

"Shhh!" Brenna said to him.

"What are you doing?" Mark asked, not paying attention to her.

"Just wait for it."

Finally, Mark seemed to hear her, and he shut his mouth. He followed her gaze, which was fixed upon the door to their loft building. Nothing happened for a couple seconds, and then very slowly Roger stepped out onto the stoop. He looked both ways before trotting down the steps and setting off down the sidewalk in the direction leading away from Brenna and Mark. Brenna waited a few more seconds before following him. Mark quickly hurried after her.

"You're using Mark to find his dealer?" he asked curiously, sounding mildly impressed.

"Yes," she replied, trying to keep a safe distance between them and Roger.

"Then why did you need me to come along?" Brenna shrugged as they rounded a corner.

"I didn't want to go alone." Behind her, Mark smiled.

Roger led them all the way to the nearby park. Kids ran all around, chasing each other and laughing merrily, and a warm breeze had picked up and was tugging gently at the fresh green grass and the branches of the trees. It all would have looked very beautiful, if it wasn't for the guy with long dark hair leaning against a large tree at one corner. Roger made a beeline right for him. Brenna halted on the other side of the street, so suddenly that Mark bumped into her from behind. She ignored him and just watched her brother as he began conversing with the dark haired man, confident that they were far enough away to be safe.

"So, what do we do now?" Mark asked after several moments of silence. Brenna shrugged, looking genuinely perplexed.

"I don't know," she answered truthfully, "I never thought we'd get this far. I figured that he'd see-DUCK!" In one fluid movement Brenna grabbed the sleeve of Mark's shirt and pulled him down with her to hide behind the parked car in front of them. Roger had been turning his head to look in their direction. She wasn't sure he could get that mad at them for following them, but she wasn't keen to find out, and it was just instinct to hide. She sighed and put her face in her hand for a moment. When she decided to take a peek, Roger was walking away from the guy with the dark hair, and he looked like he was putting something in the pocket of his jacket.

"I don't know what to do," she repeated wearily, "Lets just go home."

Brenna felt defeated. What'd she think she was going to do, anyway? Walk up to the guy and demand that he stop selling Roger heroin? The guy looked mildly dangerous. This had just ended up being a bad idea. She needed to go home and come up with another game plan. With another sigh she ran a hand through her short hair and placed a hand on the rough concrete to get up to leave. Suddenly, Mark stood up.

"Wait here," he said before turning and crossing the street to where Roger's dealer was still standing by the tree.

Brenna stared wide-eyed at where he had been sitting, and then peered around the tail end of the car she was still crouched behind. What did he think he was doing? She kept her eyes fixed on Mark, watching with baited breath. As she was watching Mark converse with the dealer, she felt and heard something sit down beside her where Mark had been.

"Hello, little sister," said Roger. Brenna jumped and spun around to look at him. He was smiling pleasantly enough, but she could tell he wasn't too happy at the moment. It was all in his eyes.

"Roger, hi," she said nervously, "What are you doing here?" He lost the smile.

"I believe the question is what are you doing here?" Brenna fought to think of a good answer, not wanting to start an all out war between her and her brother. However, she didn't need to come up with an answer as Mark came walking back around the car.

"Brenna, I got some information for Roger's dealer," he began, unknowing of Roger's presence, looking at a piece of paper, "According to him the stuff he sells is-"

"None of your business!" Roger shouted as he stood up, suddenly twice as furious as he had already been, "And I'll kindly ask you two not to follow me again!" Mark jumped as Brenna had, looking petrified. Brenna finally stood up and stood by Mark. She stared defiantly at her brother.

"Roger, we were just trying to help," she told him. Roger stared back at her.

"I don't need your help," he said blankly, and then turned and walked away.

Watching him walk away, Brenna felt a sadness in her heart, something she had never felt before. Mark stood silently next to her before nudging her in the direction of home. She followed mutely behind him, wondering what exactly it was she was feeling. It took her the entire walk home and up the stairs to realize that she was feeling something a sister feels when her brother is hurting. She flopped down on the couch and stared at the wall in front of her. What was happening? She'd been in New York a week, looking after Roger for a week, and suddenly she was feeling every emotion she had ever experienced tenfold. And it was because her brother was hurting, possibly in danger, and...she was scared for him.

"You OK?" Mark asked, snapping Brenna out of her thoughts. He was holding two cups of tea in his hands and he handed one to her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, gratefully accepting the tea and taking a sip, "I'm just suddenly realizing what a chore it is to care about someone." She half-smiled humorously, but inside she knew that she was partially telling the truth.

"Come on," said Mark, sitting down next to her with his own tea, "I'm sure you've cared about people before." Brenna turned sideways on the couch so she could look directly at him.

"Well, I never cared about my parents," she said, holding up her fingers to count, "Any friends I had in school were just a method of escaping from my parents I didn't care about, so I didn't really care about them. And up until now I never got to know Roger well enough to care about him."

"But you care about him now, right?" Mark took a sip of his tea, looking at her expectantly. Brenna wasn't sure how to answer.

"I'm not sure," she said honestly, "I mean, I suppose that would make sense, but I can't be sure because I've never felt anything like this before."

At that moment, they both heard a disbelieving scoff. Brenna turned her head in that direction, as she was sure Mark did as well, and she almost smacked herself in the face. There was Maureen, standing there with the most livid expression Brenna had ever seen on a human being. Her arms were crossed tightly with fury across her chest. Almost immediately Brenna understood what was wrong, and she couldn't believe it was happening. The last part of the sentence probably didn't sound that great if it was all Maureen heard.

"Crap," was all Brenna could think to say, and oddly enough it didn't help matters.

"Crap is right, missy!" Maureen screamed at her, "I can't believe this! I come home after circling the block a thousand times, trying to decide whether to forgive Mark or not for yelling at me this morning, and I find you two confessing your undying love for each other! Well, you know what? I'm out of here!" And before Brenna or Mark could say a word, Maureen turned and stomped back out the door. Brenna felt like laughing, but she didn't want to make Mark feel any worse than he probably already did. She looked over at him. He seemed to be struggling before getting up and running after Maureen. Brenna sighed.

As Mark left the loft, Roger sidled in. Brenna stared thoughtfully at him as he stood there, absently scratching his arm. She still didn't know how she felt about her brother, the situation, and everything else. Was she angry, sympathetic, understanding, sad? It was probably all of them, but just had so little experience with such emotions that it was nearly impossible for her to read what she was feeling. But what was she supposed to do now. She couldn't watch Roger all the time. She had to sleep, and even if she tried timing it with when he slept there was no guarantee. She couldn't ask the others to help because that was why Mark had called her. Or maybe that was just a ruse to get her to come to New York. Either way, this was her problem.

"You want the rest of Mark's tea?" she finally said, pointing to the abandoned cup on the side table next to the couch. Roger stopped scratching his arm, and walked over to sit down on the couch. He grabbed the tea and sipped at it.

"So what was that about?" he asked her, nodding towards the door where Maureen and Mark had ran out of. Brenna let out a laugh, the feeling of it soothing to her exhausted body.

"Oh, Maureen thinks Mark is cheating on her with me." It sounded so ludicrous said aloud.

"You mean you're not?" Roger said, taking another drink of his tea, looking at Brenna curiously over the mug. Brenna glared at him and kicked his thigh, causing him to spill some of his tea down the front of his shirt.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Of course I'm not," she said, ignoring his shout, "I barely know Mark. All he is to me is the person who called me down here. Nothing more." There was a pause in the conversation. Roger was staring at her with more than thought in his eyes.

"Yeah, well," he began a little awkwardly, almost murmuring into his drink, "It wasn't entirely his idea to call you." Now he was trying not to look at her at all. Brenna smiled softly, but left it at that. She didn't want to say anything back, but just enjoy the significance of that statement. But, of course, the silence didn't last long.

"You guys would look cute together you know," Roger said coyly, giving her a sideways glance and smirking. Brenna tried glaring again but she was smiling. She picked up a pillow from the floor and threw it at Roger whose tea slopped all down the front of his shirt. Brenna quickly set her own tea down and laughed loud and merrily. Roger joined her and they laughed together for a long time.

It was many hours later, after night had fallen, that Mark returned, shuffling through the door and looking like a dog with it's tail between it's legs. Brenna was over by the table with Collins and Roger. They had managed to heat up some soup, and were eating it straight out of the can. They didn't have that many spoons, so Brenna was trying to scoop her soup out with a butter knife. She stopped with her knife frozen halfway to her mouth when Mark walked in the door. He came over at sat down next to her, propping his elbow on the table and laying his head in his hand.

"Where's Maureen?" Brenna asked him, licking the juice and bits of noodle off her knife, though not looking away from him.

"I don't know," Mark said with a sigh, "At some friend's house. I tried reasoning with her, and then I tried standing outside her apartment for hours waiting for her to come out again, but I think she might have slipped out her window, so I came home." Brenna stared at him a moment longer. Collins and Roger were still just chatting quietly with each other. This was probably a familiar situation to them. But Brenna felt a little bad for Mark.

"Want some soup?" she finally said, offering her can to him, "Roger said I couldn't use your spoon." Roger snorted laughter behind her and she elbowed him. That managed to get a smile out of Mark, and Brenna felt a little better. She shared her can of soup with him while his own dinner heated up. It turned out that while Mark had his own spoon, Collins was currently using it to shovel food into his mouth, so the two of them took turns using the knife. Or trying to use the knife anyway.

"So," Collins said slowly after a bit, breaking the silence that had fallen, "I hear you two met The Man today?" Brenna could see Roger glaring at him, but she smiled in spite of the topic.

"Actually, it was just Mark that met him, " she told him, "I just got a good look at him from behind a parked car. He definitely looks familiar with his product." At that everyone laughed, even Roger. It was a nice sound.

After dinner, if you could necessarily call a can of soup eaten with a knife dinner, Brenna walked out onto the balcony the loft had. She pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. She lit one of the cigarettes and began blowing smoke out over the street. She watched the clouds shift and disappear in the night breeze, wishing she could do the same. She must have slipped off into her own thoughts, because she didn't notice Roger stepping out beside her until he spoke.

"I didn't know you smoked," he said casually enough. Brenna didn't jump, just sort of turned to look at him. She held out the pack for him.

"Yeah," she said, holding her cigarette carefully between her teeth, "Want one?" Roger paused a moment, and then reached out and grabbed one out of the pack. She went to offer him her lighter, but he pulled one out of his own coat and expertly lit the tip of the cigarette.

"When did you start smoking?" Roger asked her, looking at her peculiarly. She just sort of looked back at him with a bored look on her face.

"When I was about fourteen." Her brother looked genuinely surprised.

"Oh, I never knew that." Now he sounded genuinely embarrassed. Brenna almost laughed, but settled for just an eye roll.

"Of course you didn't," she said calmly, "But thats neither your fault or mine. Its a consequence of how we chose to live out our childhood." She flicked some ashes over the railing, and there was silence between them for some time. Roger seemed to be thinking heavily about something.

"So," he began after a while, "What was your first day of school like?"

Brenna smiled, and for several hours after that, after the others had gone to bed, and after Avenue A had drifted into a sort of sleep, the two of them talked about her first day of school, their first parties, and all of the things they had missed in each other's lives. The drug situation was not touched upon, and if it was it was only in passing, spoken as casually as anything else, and then they moved on. Tonight, there was no worry about Roger kicking the habit, or Brenna losing her mind to try and make him. Tonight, the process that should have begun over a decade ago, was being put in motion.


	3. Pumpkins and Choices

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from RENT, I'm just a huge fan.**

**Note: Yes! Chapter 3! Maybe now people will read this thing :P lol jk...but not really. I'm actually having a lot of fun writing, mostly because its almost entirely spontaneous. There are good writing moments and bad writing moments in all the chapters, but its because I didn't do any pre-planning and I'm trying to keep it that way. There was just some awkward literary moments, but I try looking past those because then there are moments that I'm really proud I wrote. One of them was the ending scene in the last chapter. But anyway. I'm beginning to get more into the eventful stuff, speeding along by month. I mean, this fic has to cover a year, so going month-by-month seems a good idea to me unless I want to make another chapter about the same event. So expect it chapters to be set monthly unless otherwise stated in my Notes :) **

**Again, I highly suggest seeing RENT if you haven't already and are reading this. Also, remember that I don't have spellcheck anymore because I don't have Word, and sometimes I don't have the patience to read through the entire thing looking for errors. At one point I'll do that and then replace all the documents with corrected ones, but for now there should only be minor errors anyway so you'll all live xD I'll hopefully have another chapter up soon, though I want to try and finish my Four Brothers fic. Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and remember to review!**

* * *

**Chapter Three: Pumpkins and Choices**

October fifteenth dawned gray, yet colorful. The sky looked like one big piece of paper that was stretched out high above the sky, but from her position on the balcony, Brenna could see the bright tips of the trees in Tompkins Square Park. The autumn colors seemed to resonate vibrantly, even in the cold morning light. Brenna was leaning against the railing, a cigarette in one hand, and a mug of coffee in the other. She had been awake since just before sunrise. Caffeine seemed to be the only thing keeping her alive this past month and a half. Wow, that was a strange thought. A month and a half. Thats how long she'd been here now. It seemed like an eternity, and it seemed like only yesterday.

Roger was still using. At least right now. She was still keeping an eye on him at night, but not for the same reason she used to. She wasn't trying to keep him from leaving. She was studying him. He seemed to be on a weekly on-and-off sequence. He tried quitting one week, and then was back on the drugs the next, and so on. Brenna had finally realized that she couldn't get him to quit by just watching him and trying to keep him in the house. She had to learn his habits, learn where he went, what he did there, and most importantly, what he was like when he was on the drugs as opposed to what he was like off of them. It was time to start putting herself in his shoes, as much as possible anyway, and only then could she help him.

"Morning," said a voice behind her. She turned, her cup of coffee held in mid-sip, to see Mark standing there with a steaming mug of his own. She looked down at her watch.

"Its early," she said, puzzled, "What are you doing up?" Mark wasn't usually up for another few hours. He shrugged mildly and walked over to lean against the balcony next to her.

"Maureen kicked me out of bed," he told her, like it was nothing, taking a drink of his coffee, "I guess we're still not OK after...the incident." Brenna couldn't help it, she snorted laughter into her mug, sending a small spray of brown liquid over the edge of the cup. Mark threw her a glare, but it was only half-hearted. In his mind he knew that yesterday's "incident" had been totally hilarious.

* * *

Yesterday, while she was walking home from the cafe, Brenna had seen a display of pumpkins outside the local market. She still had a decent amount of money on her from the stuff she was going to use for college. She had been slowly spending it, much to Roger's displeasure. She stared at the round orange squashes and she knew they would start becoming scarce as it got closer to Halloween. Most of them would likely end up smashed in the streets. She thought of the gloomy loft, and ended up buying four of them. She barely made it to the stoop of the loft building with all of them in one piece. Thankfully, she caught Mark just as he was entering the building himself, and he quickly grabbed two of them from her. 

"What are you doing with pumpkins?" he asked as they climbed the stairs, arching a questioning eyebrow.

"I don't know," Brenna answered with a shrug, "I figured they'd brighten the loft up a bit. Its always so dark in there." Mark seemed to ponder this, but apparently could find no evidence to suggest otherwise so the rest of the trip to the door was silent.

They get the pumpkins inside, and Brenna sets them down on the universal table. She took off her jacket, which she had only recently begun wearing now that the weather was getting colder, and stared at the out-of-place color. The cheeriness she had expected wasn't entirely there. She grabbed one of the few chairs and slid it into place at the table. While Mark busied himself making some tea, one of his favorite pass times she was coming to realize, Brenna busied herself with looking methodically at the pumpkins she had purchased, trying to decide what was wrong. Mark broke her concentration by setting a mug of tea in front of her face.

"You going to stare at those things all day?" he asked her with good humor and a smile on his face as he flopped down on the couch with his own mug. Brenna looked over at him with a look like 'Shut up you moron'.

"No," she answered, "They don't feel right." If it were anyone else she wouldn't have said it like that, or just wouldn't have said anything at all. However, Brenna knew that Mark would understand what she meant. They seemed to have a lot in common in the way they thought about things. Mark frowned a little and got up from the couch. He stood beside her and gazed thoughtfully at the pumpkins as she had been doing before. After a minute or two, it looked like a light bulb had gone on in Mark's head and he smiled brightly.

"They're not carved," he said with the happiness of a student who has given the correct answer, "We need to carve them." Of course, Brenna thought. But...

"But they'll rot before Halloween," she said, looking at him hopefully. He shrugged.

"Lets just carve two of them now, and the other two closer to Halloween." The man was a genius. Brenna grinned broadly and threw her arms around Mark in a quick hug. He looked rather pleased, with himself _and_ the hug.

Mark grabbed some knives from the kitchen, and Brenna selected two of the pumpkins for carving. After much debate and back-and-forth discussion, they finally agreed on the traditional one-toothed grin face and a cat face. Brenna took the latter, Mark took the former. The first step in any pumpkin carving is, of course, gutting the pumpkin, so the two of them cut holes in the tops of their pumpkins and began scraping out the seeds and pulp. It was messy business but they laughed the entire way through it, mostly because Brenna decided it would be funny to throw a handful of the stuff at Mark, and he though it would be even funnier to throw some at her. They left any pulp that fell or was flung off the table, which ended up being a lot, on the floor to clean up afterward. Needless to say, they lost at least fifteen minutes of work from their little pulp fight.

"You got it in my hair," Mark said when they finally got back to carving, scrunching his eyebrows as he tried looking at his own hair, and picking a thread of orange goo from his head. Brenna rolled her eyes.

"My apologies, miss," she said, looking down at her pumpkin as drew on the cat face with a marker, sticking the cap in her teeth. Mark tried glaring at her, but now he too was drawing a face on his pumpkin and needed to pay attention to what he was doing. There was a long silence, punctuating only be grunts of effort and gentle sawing sound of knives through the flesh of the pumpkins.

"Roger's using again," Mark said casually after a while. Brenna glanced over at him but he didn't look up from his pumpkin, so she looked back at her's.

"I figured he was," she replied just as casually as he had spoken, "It's been a week since he said he would quit for the fifth time or something."

"Yeah, I caught him shooting up in his room last night while you were sleeping." Brenna could see where this was going, but she kept her composure. She knew that Mark didn't agree with her new observational technique for helping Roger, and right now he was just trying to rattle her. He knew that the thought of Roger with a needle made her stomach squirm after her first experience seeing it first hand. That had ended with her throwing up.

"I already told you that I'm_ watching_ him, Mark," she said, a little harshly now, but still not looking up from her pumpkin.

"How can you just _watch_ him?" Mark asked her, his voice raised. He had stopped carving and was now staring at her intensely. Brenna sighed and set aside her knife.

"I tried the other approach," she said firmly, "It didn't work. I can't force him to quit with my words and actions, especially if I don't know what I'm dealing with. Despite popular belief I was not around drugs that much as a child. My parents rarely did it in front of me, and I made conscious efforts to avoid other people who did drugs. This entire situation is completely new to me, and I would appreciate a little support in the way I choose to deal with things. He is_ my _responsibility after all. At least according to everyone in the house." She took a deep breath, almost glad to have all that off her chest, and for a while she and Mark just stared at each other. Finally, Brenna went back to carving her pumpkin, but Mark just continued staring, seeming to be lost in though as he so often was.

"I want to help," he said after several minutes, "But Maureen won't let me." He said with such conviction, such utter acceptance of the fact, that Brenna didn't even try to argue with him. She just looked at up at him, more softly this time, and smiled a little.

"I know," she told him, "But hes _my _brother, and I have to do this on my own if I want that to mean something. How's your pumpkin?" At first, Mark looked confused by the question, and then he remember the one-toothed grin. He quickly looked down at his pumpkin and cut the last triangle-shaped eye out. He turned it around to face Brittany, who laughed into her hand. It was so simple, yet it seemed so perfect in contrast to the loft. It was beautiful.

"How's your's?" he asked in return. She looked down at hers, not entirely sure of her progress, and saw that she just had one last whisker to cut out. She angled her knife at the pumpkin, and stuck a hand inside to hollow squash to steady it for the difficult cut.

"Almost done. Just need to-OW!" One second her right hand was in the pumpkin, the next she had almost all the fingers on that hand in her mouth. She tasted the metallic flavor of blood, and hissed in pain through her mouthful. She had pushed the blade of the knife in too hard and had sliced through two of her fingers.

Brenna stood up and stepped away from the table, sucking on her injured fingers. She heard the scraping sound of a chair being pushed and looked over to see Mark getting up from his own seat, looking incredibly alarmed. She took her fingers out of her mouth and began walking towards him, meaning to tell him that she was alright, but she didn't get a chance to say anything. In her haste, she stepped down hard on a pile of pulp that had been thrown to the floor, and she felt her feet sliding out from beneath her. Now Mark looked really alarmed and he ran to her, treading carefully so he didn't slip as well. He grabbed Brenna's arm and pulled her back up as her butt came within inches of the floor. Her forward momentum didn't stop all at once, and she was pressed against him for moment and Mark had to lean back against the side of the couch so the two of them didn't go toppling over. They stayed like that a moment, their arms somewhat wrapped around each other, catching their breaths. The entire event had lasted no more than fifteen seconds, but the adrenaline rush in both of them had been exhausting.

"Well, that was a rush," she said humorously, trying to smile, but still in pain from her finger. She stepped back a little so she was squashing Mark against the furniture, and looked her finger, which had slowed down to a sluggish trickle of blood. Instinctively, she stuck the finger back in her mouth to dull the pain that was still biting sharply at her nerves.

"Hey," Mark said sternly grabbing her hand, "Don't put it in your mouth, thats bad." Brenna grudgingly removed the cut finger from her mouth, and watched as Mark carefully examined the wound. She was very appreciative of his gentleness in handling the cut. She was not a fan of pain. Of course, moments like this never last long.

"What in the hell do you think you two are going?" Maureen shouted at the top of her lungs, and they heard a loud thud that was her groceries being dropped to the floor. Brenna forced herself not to groan aloud, but this entire scene was getting old. It seemed that at least twice a week Maureen accused them of having a secret relationship, but Brenna could understand what made this particular moment a little too much for the drama queen. Brenna and Mark _were_ only about six inches apart, and Mark _was_ holding her hand.

"Maureen, its-" Brenna began.

"You don't talk to me!" Maureen shrieked back, cutting her off, and then pointed at Mark, "And you, don't even _think_ about coming to bed tonight, you and your bitch can sleep on the couch together!" And, for the third time that week, Maureen stormed back out of the loft, leaving a trail of canned soup and fruit in her wake.

Brenna and Mark stood there for a few moments in complete silence. Brenna looked at Mark, waiting for him to dash after Maureen, but he never did. He looked tired, almost bored with the entire thing, but she could still see a little struggle in his eyes. Finally, he looked back at her, looking determined to forget about what just happened.

"Lets go take care of your finger," he said wearily. For a second, Brenna wanted to say something about the little incident, but in the end she kept her mouth shut and just nodded. They went into the bathroom and Mark bandaged up her finger with what little first aid supplies they had.

* * *

Apparently Maureen had made good on her threat, but out of respect for Mark, Brenna didn't press the subject any further. She had nearly had it with Maureen's constant accusations, but it was early and Brenna was too tired to do anything but sip at her coffee. She realized that Mark was saying something next to her, but she wasn't listening. She shook her head a bit, trying to wake herself up, and looked at him. 

"What?" she asked curiously.

"I said its a nice day today," he repeated, smiling a little, "It looks like the sun might even come out for a few minutes today. Probably the last time we'll really see-"

_"SPEA-Maureen! Maureen, I'm doing something right now! Alright, alright, I'll come rub your feet. Uh, leave a message,"_ droned Mark's voice from the answering machine inside the loft. There was a click and then a message.

_"Guys?"_ spoke a strange voice, _"You're probably screening your calls. Um, well, it's Benny. I was calling to tell you guys I'm back in the city. Florida was amazing. Uh, Allison and me are starting to plan our rehearsal dinner, so I thought maybe I'd come over and we could discuss the whole being-in-the-wedding thing. I guess I'll just show up. See ya." _

Brenna looked over at Mark curiously. She had long since learned not to answer the phone herself so she had remained put, but she didn't recognize that voice at all. Furthermore she had never heard the name Benny mentioned by any of the others. Then again she really didn't talk to Maureen or Collins. Maureen by choice, Collins because he usually went directly to sleep when he came home. Mark seemed to be completely ignoring the fact that the guy Benny had left a message. He was just continuing to sip at his tea.

"Who was that?" Brenna finally asked. Mark shrugged, never a good sign.

"A former roommate," he answered, "He moved out just before you got here. His fiancee got him an apartment in the rich neighborhood. He was hinting before he left that he would be choosing his best man after he came back." He didn't sound entirely enthused. Brenna felt like prodding the subject, probing for more information, but Mark's face unnerved her a bit. He seemed to be looking determinedly out over the street, robotically drinking his tea.

"You know you really should change that message on the machine," she told him after a moment, smiling a little as she finished off her coffee. Mark turned his head to look at her, and for a second she thought he was going to get mad at her, but then he burst into a grin. It was sort of a sad grin, but the cheeriness overpowered the sadness, and Brenna felt better.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

"You know what?" another voice asked. Brenna and Mark turned around and saw Roger standing there, a loose sweatshirt on and a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.

"Nothing," Mark said quickly, taking a large gulp of his tea, "Benny called. I should probably go tell Maureen to get up. She'll want to do her makeup and stuff." He strode past Roger and back into the loft, heading to the room that Maureen and he shared. Brenna watched him go with amusement, Roger watched him go with puzzlement.

"What was that about?" he asked his sister, taking Mark's place next to her at the railing.

"I believe hes trying to force me to talk to you about the fact that you're using again," she said casually, "See, he doesn't like the fact that I've stopped trying to make you stop and that I'm now just quietly observing your behavior to decide how best to deal with the situation." She didn't look over at Roger, just stared at the building across the street, empty mug still in her hand.

"Hm," Roger replied, "Well, _are_ you going to talk to me about it?"

"Nope."

"Well, alright then." He paused. "Were you and Mark really holding hands yesterday?" Brenna turned her head sharply at him, glaring. She wished greatly that she still had some coffee left, because she would have very much enjoyed splashing it at him. But, since the cup was empty, she just sighed and shook her head.

They were silent until Benny arrived. The two had been doing a lot of quiet time together. Brenna couldn't figure it out. For some reason when they were around each other, there was just nothing to talk about. The silence was never uncomfortable, if anything it was more comfortable than talking. When they were just being quiet, there was something serene about it, like nothing could go wrong. There was no mention of the drugs hanging over them like a raincloud, and they could just enjoy each other's presence. For some reason being around Roger was soothing to her now, and she assumed it was vice versa because she didn't hear him complaining.

Benny, ended up being a tall African American man, same age as Roger and a few shades darker than Collins. He had a large, bright smile, and a slight sophistication hanging about him. Brenna liked him alright. He was a stranger to her, and she was usually cautious with strangers, but Benny was a friend of her new family's, and he was getting married, so she did her best to be pleasant. They were introduced, and they shook hands.

"I'm Benny," Benny said with a smile that Brenna felt was _too_ cheerful.

"So I've heard," she replied, trying not to sound like a total bitch as she said it, but judging by the slight falter in Benny's smile and the almost inperceptable cough she heard coming from Mark's direction, she hadn't completely succeeded.

"I didn't know Roger had a sister," said Benny conversationally.

"Yeah, I've heard that, too." A little nicer this time. "I don't even think Roger knew he had a sister."

"Ha, ha," Roger said sarcastically from where he sat on the back of the couch, arms folded. That sent a chuckle around the group, and then a silence fell, no one knowing what to say next. It seemed to Brenna that tensions had started building between Benny and the others since he had left the loft.

"So how are the wedding plans going?" Maureen finally asked. This seemed to be a topic Benny was eager to discuss because his face immediately lit up, and his grin grew wider than Brenna thought was physically possible. She was surprised the top half of his head was still connected to the rest.

"Everything is going amazingly," he replied exhuberantly, "Thats part of the reason I came over today. Allison keeps pushing me and pushing me to make a decision about my best man. We're starting to plan our rehearsal dinner for a month from now, and she wants her maid-of-honor and my best man to make a toast."

"A month from now?" Mark asked suddenly, "Thats a little long isn't it?" Benny almost appeared to scoff, but Brenna supposed it came off more as a soft chuckle.

"No, no," Benny told him, pleasantly enough, "Thats actually rushing it. We have to send out invitations, and organize the food and music." Mark rose his eyebrows a bit and nodded his understanding, going back to being silent. There was another pause where no one said anything. Benny seemed to be waiting for something, and Brenna finally obliged.

"So whose going to be your best man?" she asked him. She had sat down next to her brother on top of the couch. Benny tried looking surprised, as though he hadn't been rehearsing this moment for hours.

"I'm glad you asked. Now, guys, I've thought a lot about this. I'm great friends with all three of you, and choosing between you is tough. However, all of you will be in the wedding party, but I wanted my best man to be the person that I had the best connection with when I lived here, the one whose company I enjoyed a little more than the others." He paused for dramatic effect, and Brenna almost rolled her eyes. "Roger, I would like you to be my best man." He said it as theatrically as everything else, making Brenna wonder just how much time he had spent rehearsing this spiel.

Roger looked stunned a moment, as though Benny had just told him that Jesus had visited him in a dream and told him to build an ark and bring two of each animal, and that Roger was not invited. But, after a second or two, Roger smiled, though Brenna could tell it looked strained.

"I'd be honored," Roger replied. Benny seemed satisfied with this because he smiled widely in return, rubbing his hands together.

"OK, well, thats settled then," he said, mostly to himself it seemed, "I've got to get going. Allison wants to go to a cake tasting. I'll be in touch." And with that he was gone, and Brenna was slightly relieved. She wasn't sure whether she liked Benny much or not, but his presence was a little exhausting. She looked over at Roger, who looked like he had just signed away his soul, and gave him a little nudge.

"I can't wait to here your toasting speech," she said with a broad grin. He looked over at her with a glare and gave her a harder nudge.

"Shut up." 


End file.
